Bri’s heart stammered a beat. The line moved forward, but her feet felt stuck to the tile floor. Instead of giving Sandra the satisfaction of her glance, she focused on a young boy ahead of them in line licking a Dum Dum sucker.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t— “What deal?”
“Gerard has been playing devil’s advocate, sugar. Wasn’t it obvious?” A slow smile spread across Sandra’s face. The woman lived for gossip and clearly felt she had an inside scoop, reminiscent of her glory days. “He was playing both sides, trying to keep the fires of competition burning for the sake of the article.”
“You’re not even making sense.” Why had she even entertained this crazy woman for so long? Bri held the bank bag in a white-knuckled grip and willed the line ahead of them to move.
“Listen to me. Gerard is a writer—a businessman. He’s in it for the entertainment value. Drama sells, especially in print.” Sandra squared her shoulders with authority. “Trust me, I know.”
She did know. But Gerard wouldn’t do that—he wouldn’t side with Charles after everything they’d been through. After everything he’d coached her through.
Running off Charles’s intern.
Helping her navigate the press interview.
Assisting with Casey’s wedding.
Encouraging her to keep trying her mom’s recipes.
Impossible. She shook her head. “You must be confused.”
“I’m a lot of things, honey, but confused isn’t one of them.” Sandra rocked back on her high-heeled boots and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why don’t you ask him where he got that two hundred dollars cash?”
“That’s ridiculous.” Bri’s temper flared as they finally shuffled forward in line. Her voice pitched and cracked, and the young boy with the sucker stared at her, wide-eyed. She attempted to lower her tone. “Gerard isn’t like you. He cares about the Puff—and me. And while we’re asking questions, why don’t you ask him who he’s coming back to see for New Year’s?” She hated falling prey to Sandra’s games, but she refused to let the nosy woman ruin her day with slander.
“I’m not concerned about your New Year’s plans. Except I highly suggest you come by the consignment shop before your night out.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you, I came across Gerard and Charles talking at Taylor’s, all secret-like. Charles wouldn’t even tell me right away what it was about.” She smirked. “I got him to talk later.”
“You’re going to have to gossip somewhere else, Sandra. I’m not falling for this.” A spike of adrenaline, mixed with a shot of indignation, flowed through Bri’s veins. Just wait until she told Gerard at dinner about Sandra’s latest scheme. She was probably just jealous that Gerard hadn’t given her attention. “The article is in favor of the Puff.”
“So, you’ve read it?”
Bri’s mouth snapped shut. She hadn’t.
And he’d never offered.
Why hadn’t he ever offered?
Sandra stepped forward, cutting Bri in line, and tossed a smug smile over her shoulder. “I’m guessing that’s a no.”
Dread started a slow descent into Bri’s stomach. The little boy peered around Sandra’s leg at Bri and loudly crunched the remains of his Dum Dum.
Now who was the sucker?
Bri’s excitement over their evening picnic morphed into a paralyzing sense of worry. She alternated between convincing herself there was no way Gerard had played her that way and believing maybe there was some truth to Sandra’s explanation, after all. Then again, Sandra had a bitter streak against Bri as long as Main Street. She had plenty of motivation to lie if she wanted to—especially if she’d been jealous about Gerard.
It was the heavy “what if” she couldn’t shake.
Bri hesitantly climbed the porch steps of the B&B, mini-cooler in hand. She’d insisted on bringing some goodies of her own this time, but her heart hadn’t been in it as she’d packed fresh fruit, flaky croissants, and newly baked oatmeal-raisin cookies.
She shifted the cooler to knock on the door. She’d feel better after she talked to him. Surely it was all one big misunderstanding, and they’d get a good laugh and eat cookies and—
“Over here, Cupcake.” The porch swing creaked, and Bri tightened her grip on the plastic blue handle as she spun to face Gerard.
“You scared me—again.” She forced a laugh that sounded hollow.
“Do you ever look to your right?” He grinned, and unlike their last porch visit, he stood to greet her. Bri couldn’t contain the butterflies taking flight in her stomach as he closed the distance between them.
“When there’s a good reason to.” She tried to smile back, but even her flirting felt awkward, forced. She had to know his side of the story or she’d never be able to relax.
He opened his arms, and she stepped into them on autopilot. His strong grip shut around her, his heartbeat steady in his chest, calming her racing one. She rested in his embrace.
“I’ve been waiting for this all day.” He pressed a kiss against her forehead.
“Me too.” And she had. There was no reason to believe anything had changed. In fact, the longer she stayed in his arms—inhaling his unique scent of evergreen and coffee and earth, feeling his muscles beneath her fingertips—the sillier she felt for having given Sandra’s gossip a second thought.
“I hope you’re hungry.” Gerard broke away from the hug and began opening containers of sliced deli meat for the croissants. “This isn’t as authentic as our last picnic, but I didn’t want to be distracted by details.” He caught her hand as she set the cooler on the table. “I’d much rather focus on other things.”
“So, I’m a thing now, huh?” She shook her head with exaggeration as she began pulling containers from the cooler. “Agnes always warned me, once you let a man kiss you, it’s all downhill from—”
Gerard cut her off with an intentional press of his lips against hers, and suddenly she was having dessert before dinner. She kissed him in return, Sandra’s petty accusations now
